So you say you want a revolution?
by Daring Dashwood
Summary: Iran cannot say what he needs to, and it takes a surprisingly understanding America to help him let it all out.


So you say you want a revolution?

_A Hetalia Oneshot_

_Rating: T for language_

_Fight scenes are far from my forte, so please excuse their utter fail. _

_Note: This story has nothing to do with the Beatles song; the lyrics don't match the fanfic at all, and I just needed a title. _

--

Another meeting passed, nothing resolved. The many countries of the world filtered out of the building, some grumbling complaints as they did so.

America was one of the last to leave; his important papers and documents his boss had entrusted him with had scattered throughout the large room during France and England's usual brawl. He'd just left the conference room and was shuffling down the hallway to the main exit when—

The furious howl caught him off guard, and he was unable to brace himself before he was shoved harshly against the wall, the papers he'd just meticulously gathered spilling out over the floor.

One hand clutched at his throat, not tightly enough to strangle, but just enough to remain as a warning in case he tried to struggle.

Texas was knocked off during the assault, and he blinked fuzzily at his attacker, unable to see what country it was. His first thought was Russia, but this country was far too small to be him…

"I hate you," the attacker spoke in garbled English. Ah, he knew that voice.

Blue eyes (slightly dulled by the recession) stared in the general direction of the nation, a smile drifting hazily onto his face as he recognized the other.

"Iran."

He didn't struggle, despite the fact that his herculean strength was more than enough to throw the other nation off of him. A fact that Iran was not ignorant of.

"Fight back you coward, _fight back_!"

Something wet was dripping onto America's shirt. It couldn't be blood; it had not escalated to such an extent, not yet.

So the people of Iran were crying, then.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

The Middle Eastern country rammed his fist into America's stomach, towering over the country as he doubled up in pain. Before the American could regain his breath, Iran kicked him in the chest, part of him taking a sadistic delight in the distinctive sound of crunching bones.

The desert country flipped the superpower over and pinned his hands—you could never be too careful, especially not in these times. He couldn't have the country escaping, and he wasn't about to give him any opening.

The western nation gasped in pain, but did not cry out, instead smiling that _damn huge smile _again.

"You'll pull through, Iran. My revolution was tough, and that was back when men used only muskets and pitchforks to fight a war. You've it much, much worse, what with all the new technology. But the situation's basically the same as mine was: you're outgunned, but there's more of you than them and you yearn for freedom."

Iran flicked out a knife, America only fuzzily making out the dangerous glint of the thing.

Iran snorted. "All lies, all empty promises. This will be just another Vietnam War. You Americans spout all you want about freedoms, but when push comes to shove, you just cower behind your words and flags."

America's eyes flashed. "I promised that I would stay and help you, Iran, along with Iraq and Afghanistan."

"Is that what you told Vietnam and Korea?"

America growled, and his face was shoved harshly to the carpet.

"Me and my people are going to help you, are trying to help you. But you have to take the first step. You have to stop Ahmadinejad and the corrupt theocracy he is a puppet of. You have to put aside your loathing for Israel and stop trying to build goddamn nukes before someone gets hurt."

"Ahmadinejad is my leader!" _Lies. A rigged election. _"I don't need your help!" _Like _hell _you don't. _

Iran squeezed his eyes shut, the many voices in him shouting and raging, contradicting each other. He shook his head in wild denial.

"No, no! I—I cannot believe you! You just—you _can't _give my people this kind of hope and then just take it away!"

"Tell me what you want Iran, _tell me what you want_!"

"I want—" Iran started, but then hesitated.

"You want _what_ Iran? What the fuck do you want!?"

Something in Iran snapped, and suddenly he was in control of himself, and not just his government's plaything.

"I—I….I want freedom! I want—I _need_ a revolution!"

Tears were streaming down his face freely now, his body pulsating with the desire and yearning of his people.

"Then you damn well better start fighting for it. I'll be rootin' for you."

But as quickly as the cage doors had opened, they slammed shut again.

"Shut up!" Iran hissed, flipping the nation over. America did not resist as the knife was pressed to his throat, the hand holding it trembling, hesitant. He started to lower it, but America enclosed the desert country's hand in his own, and, ignoring the other's questioning look, replaced the weapon back on his neck.

"This is the way it must be, Iran. Do it."

And so he did, watching as the blade broke the skin, crimson lifeblood spilling out onto the rich carpet. The stench of fresh blood was overpowering him, maddening him.

"How about I rip those vocal cords that you're so fond of out of your neck? That'd shut you up. You wouldn't be able to spout out empty promises anymore, wouldn't be able to—"

Iran was cut off as he was tackled; the knife was knocked out of his hand and clattered to the floor, still slick with the American's blood.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Ah, so England had come after him. He must've waited for him at the entrance or something, and gotten worried when he hadn't shown.

There was a scuffle off to his left, a loud thud, and then silence.

"E-England?" He croaked, not wanting to turn his head, already becoming slightly lightheaded from blood loss.

Just as he was about to risk the wound deepening further to see what had happened, England was hovering over him, those large eyebrows creased in concern. America smiled faintly at him.

"Hey, Iggy. Trying to steal my awesomeness by attempting to be heroic for once?"

"I-Idiot, don't talk." Texas was pushed back onto his face, and Alfred was able to make out his former caretaker tearing off part of his sleeve. As he started to wind the makeshift bandage around, he continued his worried rant.

"Honestly, what were you thinking, allowing Iran to go that far? Even though I know you're weakened due to the recession, you could've stopped him before it escalated to—to this. Now look at you; your neck is bleeding, and God knows what else—"

"'s fine, Iggy."

"No, it is not bloody fi—"

"We are personifications of our countries, no? Of our people. But the people are controlled by the government. So, even if the people are fighting for their freedom, they're still controlled by their government. That's why I can't blame him. He's just as much of a slave to his country as his people are. As we all are to our respected nations."

Arthur stared at his former colony for a few minutes, full of disbelief and unshed tears. He knew that Alfred spoke the truth, and yet—

"Git. Why is it that the only time you don't care about yourself is when it really matters?"

America merely smiled.

"You didn't hit Iran too hard, did you?"

England scowled slightly at the mention of Iran, but inclined his head to the unconscious nation; the latter slumped on the floor.

"Oh, that sodding git will be fine. Just pressure points. I didn't have time for much more; I was—" he flushed lightly. "—more worried about you. Come on, then, let's get you to a hospital."

"So, you say you want a revolution, Iran?" He muttered under his breath as England hauled him up. He stared back at the crumpled figure until he was pulled out of his line of vision.

"I think that'd be just _awesome_."

-fin-

I'm not really satisfied with this one. It sounded much better in my head, I guess. Tell me what you think of it. If you do not understand some of the history (although there really isn't that much of it mentioned) then look it up. The web and books were both invented for a reason.

-bleu-blizzard-


End file.
